


These Things That Never Change

by vands88



Category: Arthurian Mythology, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Accidentally Meta, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Angst, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic, Atlantis, Battle of Camlann, Fantasy, Gen, Global Warming, Holy Grail, M/M, Mythology - Freeform, Post-Series, Reincarnation, Science Fiction, Starts Canon and Ends Canon with timey-wimey in between basically, Storytelling, What Was I Thinking?, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-09 14:09:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 16,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vands88/pseuds/vands88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur and Merlin are reincarnated but only Arthur remembers their previous lives. After one disastrous reincarnation, Arthur ends up trapped in an Alternate Universe without Merlin and is set on a quest to restore the world to its natural state.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning: I have no idea where this is going and my record of WIPs is...not great. I think this idea originated on the kinkmeme ages ago and I haven't been able to shake it: Arthur and Merlin are reincarnated but only Arthur remembers their previous lives and that these lives always follow very similar paths and end the same way... Probably gonna be an angst-fest. Short because I haven't decided if to continue in this exact universe or pick at various past lives. No beta. Congrats if you're somehow still reading, and thanks.

This time, Arthur meets Merlin in Trafalgar Square. Although, this time Merlin’s name is Martin. And this time, Arthur decides not to tell him that their path is already set.

“Hello,” Arthur says.

He sits beside Merlin on the steps. It’s a Monday evening in June; the sky is turquoise and the children play in the fountain.

“Er, hi.” Merlin says.

Arthur always thinks Merlin is beautiful, but he must say he’s a fan of the cardigan in this lifetime. It reminds him of his first Merlin and the neckerchief he always used to wear.

“I’m Arthur.”

“I’m, er, I’m Martin. I’m sorry, do I know you?”

Arthur stifles a laugh. _Yes, you idiot. You will always know me._ “No, I don’t suppose you do. Nice evening isn’t it?”

“Yeah, sorry, it’s just I’ve had a bad day and – “

“What happened?” Arthur interrupts, instinctively worried.

“Er, no offense –“ This is the first time Martin looks at him and it’s in a horribly judgemental way and it hits Arthur like a punch in the gut. Then Arthur replays what his eagerness must have sounded like, and, yes…no one makes small talk in London especially in the early 21st century. Edwardian London was nicer (apart from the smell that is) but right now? Arthur sounds like a stalker.

“Right, you probably don’t want to talk about it to a stranger.” Arthur shrugs, “I had a bad day too, if that helps.”

Martin doesn’t say anything so Arthur continues his attempt at nonchalance over his screaming inner monologue of: _I found him, I found him, I found him._

“I’m a curator at, you know,” Arthur points to the towering building behind them, “And you would not believe the drama over this upcoming exhibition. Honest to god, I had to argue with an agent about fire exits today. As if that little green little light is actually going to affect the way someone views a particular shade of blue on two inches of canvas a foot away from the door. God, people never used to care about things like that! Or fire exits for that matter.”

Arthur can hear the false cheer in his voice. He hates it. Almost as much as he hates Merlin’s silence. Or _Martin_. There’s another thing he hates: the name-changing. If he ever meets the cruel entity that puts him through this constant reincarnation that would probably be his first question, alongside “Why is it only me? Why, please why, can’t he remember too?”

“I should, er, probably head off.” Martin mumbles.

“Right.” Arthur says, dumbly watching as his Merlin disappears into the crowd.

Arthur doesn’t chase after him. In every life their first meeting always ends in disaster, but they always meet again. And right now, that’s all Arthur lets himself think about; the meeting again, not the leaving again. He watches the sunset and daydreams about how it will be.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, still no idea where this is going but it looks like I'm time-hopping! The first chapter is in present tense and I like the idea of cardigan!Merlin and curator!Arthur so for now, I'm assuming that's the current period that I'll jump back to and everything else is in the past, ok? Thanks for reading.

 

The last time Arthur told Merlin that actually he was reborn from Arthurian legend was in Brighton in the 1980s.

They had found each other in their early 20s, in the gay quarter, in a queue for some chips. Merlin had said he was lost.

Over the years, Arthur had accepted that he and Merlin were the more-than-platonic kind of soulmates but like everything else, Merlin changed with every reincarnation. So, sometimes they were lovers, sometimes friends, and on one memorable occasion, distant cousins (although in the countryside in the seventeenth century it would have been hard to find someone who wasn’t).

Still, with Merlin looking so awkward with literally one foot on the touristy beach and another on a sticker for gay pride, Arthur had decided right there that, yes, he had to snog that boy, and yes, he would tell him his real name.

It didn’t go well. Three weeks later, the conversation went something like this:

“Merlin – “

“Mark! My name is Mark, dammit Arthur!” Merlin had put his hands over his ears in a childish attempt to block out the truth. “God, is that even your real name?”

“Yes, Merlin, of course it is.”

“Stop calling me that! Fuck! You’re mental! Listen to me.” Merlin stepped so close, Arthur could see the clouds of anger rising in his eyes, “There is no such thing as soulmates. Or magic. Or reincarnation.” The last word was spat on the ground between them and for one dreadful minute, Arthur thought Merlin was going to punch him. Instead Merlin kissed him.

They broke away but Merlin kept his hands on Arthur’s cheek, caressing it in an almost patronising way. “I knew you were keeping something from me,” Merlin was quiet and broken, “But this is…it can’t be true.”

“Why?”

“Because I would know,” Merlin whispered, “Soulmates kinda require both parties to be involved. I should feel something, right? And I don’t, I mean, I’m not even gay – “

Arthur opened his mouth to repeat the argument they had had several times already, but Merlin knew it was coming and had put his fingers gently over Arthur’s lips.

“But,” Merlin continued, “Even if we were reincarnated spirits from Arthurian legend – “ He backed away laughing, and every giggle was like a knife to the gut. “Right, so, that would mean what exactly? You’ve been shagging me since the dawn of time?” His laughter died suddenly and the knife twisted painfully, “So, wait, if you really did live all these lives, did I, I mean, _them_ , ever know the truth? I mean, if it is the truth. Because if I am Merlin, great magician and all, I think I would want to know.”

“Why?” Arthur asked coldly, “You’re not taking it so well now.”

“Because!” Merlin exclaimed, continuing to pace his apartment, “Because…it’s utterly mad. Because if you had lived all these lives and lost me countless of times, no person in their right mind would continue living, no one could cope with that over and over again. It’s mad.”

Silence fell between them. Arthur watched Merlin look out the window.

Arthur wanted to tell Merlin that he was right; that every time he woke as a new person his heart ached a little more. Arthur wanted to tell Merlin that he had killed himself dozens of times, only to wake up a year or so later in a new body. Arthur wanted to tell Merlin that he had tried everything to hurry along their meeting, prolong their time together, prevent Merlin dying, and that nothing had worked. There was no escape.  It would always hurt waiting for Merlin, loving Merlin, losing Merlin. It was that same very knowledge that now, hundreds of lives later, made Arthur love so easily, because despite the curse, every minute with every reincarnation of Merlin was a blessing.

“You’re right,” Arthur said eventually, “It’s mad.”

“God, Arthur, you really didn’t strike me as the crazy type. I mean, you mock me all the time for being –” Merlin broke off. _Eccentric_ , was probably what Merlin was aiming for. "But then you come out and say all of this, with everything else going on, just why?”

“Time is short and repeating,” Arthur said, “I had to try once.”

“Once?!” Merlin was back to shouting, “You think you’ve lived all these lives with me but this is the first time you thought to mention it?!”

Arthur nodded meekly.

“Not only are you crazy,” Merlin continued, “You’re also a selfish, arrogant, egotistical clotpole!”

Despite Merlin’s anger, Arthur laughed, “Clotpole? You haven’t called me that for a good few years.”

“Stop it!”

Arthur stopped laughing.

“Stop pretending you know everything about my life!” Merlin slapped his forehead in frustration, “I just made that word up, it’s not like I recalled it from memory or mythology or something! God, I need a walk. Let yourself out.”

And Merlin left. And fell down the stairs.

And then Arthur woke up in a four-poster bed in 1992 in a country house in Sussex, ready to try again. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with it folks. :-)

 

Arthur wakes on a muddy forest floor. It is dark and raining. Arthur’s head pounds from the reincarnation; all the memories from this life he has inherited are transplanted so quickly in his brain he cannot see straight. The facts are this: He is a farmer’s boy, rural England, fifteenth century… and apparently the rebel of the village. Arthur knows this because he vaguely remembers running into the forest after his father beat him for stealing potatoes.

Arthur is drifting out of consciousness once more when a rustling noise jolts him awake. He is lying unarmed and exhausted in a dark forest. He freezes in fear and his ears strain to hear the telling snap of a twig or the squelch of footprints in mud. He hears both. Arthur jumps to his feet in panic. His head spins as he searches around for a weapon. He picks up a large stick and wields it like a sword. Exhausted, he stumbles backwards against a tree, and blinking against his headache he prepares to face whatever manner of man or beast is about to break through the treeline.

Or falls through the treeline.

A boy shrieks and falls flat on his face in the mud that Arthur had just vacated. Arthur laughs.

The boy scrambles to his feet, wiping the dirt off his face with a fraying sleeve. He swings his bag into his shoulder and raises a sword towards Arthur. “You…you scared me.” He accuses.

“You scared me too!” Arthur laughs, “Could you put the sword down Merlin?”

Merlin lowers the sword, though most likely through shock than any sort of willingness, “How do you know my name?”

“Oh, your name’s actually Merlin? Thank god, it was getting confusing.” Arthur mumbles.

“What?”

“I mean, er, lucky guess?”

Merlin raises his sword again, “Look, mister, I’m just trying to get to the next village over and could do with directions. Either, you help me, or I kill you.”

Arthur smiles, “You’re not going to kill me.”

Merlin’s forehead crinkles, “How…? I mean, I have a sword, I could.” He waves the sword around, clearly not knowing what he’s doing; it nearly lands in a tree.

“Because you’re Merlin,” Arthur shrugs, “And Merlin doesn’t kill strangers in need of his help.”

This time, Merlin actually puts his sword away. “You need help?”

“I’m also trying to get back to the village, but I’m sick and don’t think I could walk that far.”

“What kind of sick?” Merlin asks. He is always so caring.

“Nothing bad. Just hit my head.”

Merlin steps closer, “Where? How? Are you bleeding? Can you see ok?”

“I’m fine! I promise!” Although, just as Arthur speaks, his vision swims a little bit. He closes his eyes and opens them again to see the dark forest encroached with dark spots. “Though on second thoughts, maybe not the seeing thing. Hey, you’re not in any hurry, are you?”

“You want to rest?” Merlin asks, worriedly scanning the forest.

“It’s probably for the best.”

“I’m not sure if I want to spend the night in a dark forest with a stranger. I don’t even know your name.”

“But you trust me.”

“I, um,” Merlin starts, “What was your name?”

“Arthur, I think,” he trawls through the emerging memories, “Yeah, Arthur Pryke, son of –“

“Malcolm Pryke. The blacksmith.” Merlin fills in.

“You know him?”

Merlin laughs, “Everyone knows him. Best smithy in the kingdom. That’s why I’ve been sent to your village actually, my employer needs some work done that our blacksmith can’t do.”

“Right, yes, that sounds like him.”

“So why are you out here?”

“Pissed him off.”

Merlin laughs. In this body, every time Merlin laughs, he gets dimples. Even if Arthur did not love him unreservedly in every lifetime, he no doubt would have already fallen in love with him.

“So now we’ve agreed not to kill each other, any chance I can collapse?”

Merlin laughs again but it’s laced with concern, “You’re a bit strange.”

“Yes, I am.”

The rain seems to ease just as Merlin looks into his eyes. For a moment it seems as if Merlin knows everything; that he can see into his soul as Arthur can see his. Then Merlin blinks and a friendly smile lights up his face. It looks a lot like naivety.

“I’ll start a fire.” Merlin says.

“Sure.” Arthur says and he collapses onto the cold, wet, ground.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news: I've worked out a plot!  
> Bad news: ...how do you like your angst?

It is 2012 and Arthur wakes in an empty mansion in Oxfordshire. His last life rests heavy on his heart; a life he had spent with Merlin for so long that he had forgotten it would only be snatched away. It is strange to think that when they first lived, cars did not exist. Now they have both been killed by them.

And so, Arthur vows, just this one lifetime, he is going to be selfish. He wants to _live_ and that is only possible if he makes it impossible to meet Merlin. He wants to run to the most remote house in the most remote part of the most remote country and speak a word to nobody. And so he does.

Arthur has been born into a wealthy family again, and so it is easy to take the money, his passport and a bag, and call a cab to the airport. He is halfway to the airport when he realises his mistake; how many people gather at airports, how likely one could be Merlin… he redirects the cab driver to a rental car branch and takes care not to look at the employees too closely, just in case. Once in the car, he drives to the coast, finds a small ferry service to France, hires another car when he's across the Channel, and drives across Europe.

Arthur reflects that it isn’t until you miss someone so terribly, that every face looks like theirs, no matter how different the actuality. It doesn’t help that Arthur is constantly surrounded by the machine that killed Merlin. So, he drives, and avoids anything that isn’t the road and the thinning of houses even though he can feel Merlin and their past lives clawing at his heart. He stops, several times, over several years, but no house is quiet enough. Arthur begins to doubt if it is possible to run away from it at all.

Eventually, Arthur buys a derelict farm in the Russian countryside. He does his best not to go mad both anticipating and dreading a knock at the door. Arthur spends his days refurbishing the farmhouse, raising chickens, planting potatoes, and eventually relaxes, having neglected the weight around his heart.

Time passes.

Arthur breaks his rule and speaks to the elderly neighbours who live a mile north and don’t mind his quietness.  

Arthur buys a newsfeed to sit alongside the bookcase, but refuses to throw away his television just yet.

Arthur notices that his hard labour becomes harder and his speckled hair becomes greyer.

Arthur’s butcher knives hang proudly by the front door, his neighbours now keep their curtains closed, and his television set is only static noise. He doesn’t notice this, however. No one ever realises they have gone mad until someone tells them that they are just lonely.

The doorbell rings one evening.

Arthur forgot that he had wired a doorbell. It takes him a while to recall the sound and the action that is meant to accompany it. He is suddenly filled with a fear that has not haunted him in years: People. The fear is no longer of Merlin because time has done its duty and even the reason for his living in Russia seems immaterial, but there is an underlying distrust of others, and it is that fear that has him reaching for his large butcher knife.

It is now 2062. Arthur’s newsfeed tells him that world is not safe anymore. Even as he peers through the window to survey the intruder, the newsfeed warns him of the gangs, the terrorists, and the mutants.

Through the window, Arthur sees a spindly old man outside his front door. The stranger kicks grumpily at the weeds with his walking stick. But Arthur knows you could disguise anything to look like a harmless stick nowadays.  

Arthur is filled with an inexplicable hatred as he opens the door. The visitor’s face twists with emotion and then he stumbles towards Arthur with arms wide as if they are old friends. Arthur’s knife is raised before either of them are aware of it. And as the man embraces Arthur, so does the knife into his belly.

Arthur, in shock, feels the dampness on his fingertips and the hard handle of the knife in his hands and immediately understands what he has done. It feels as if he too is dying and that he will never stop.

“Merlin.”

“Arthur.”

They speak simultaneously.

“I found you,” Merlin says, and he smiles softly against Arthur’s shoulder as he bleeds out, “I remembered about you and I found you.”

Arthur tries to hold him but his hands are shaking. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I don’t know…”

“Shh, I understand.” Merlin says, even though Arthur’s apology was in Russian. “I understand,” he repeats, “You must be so lonely, so sad, so strong, I only wanted to find you as you have found me. Before. So many times.”

Merlin’s palm reaches until it is on Arthur’s damp cheek. Merlin looks until he cannot look any more, and falls, and Arthur falls with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry folks, and it's gonna be angsty for a while... Thanks for sticking with it!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's short, but I didn't want to keep you waiting after that nasty chapter.

Arthur can sense something wrong before he even wakes. There is a foreign static to the air that prickles his skin. The memories of his inherited life soon invade his brain – 2062, Prince of England, he lives in a palace under the sea. In fact, everyone lives under giant glass domes under the sea… Well, that doesn’t seem right. It is his 18th birthday. Right, so at least he can blame his headache on a hangover…wait, there’s no alcohol here, they get high on green juice instead. Ok, so Arthur may have been living in remote Russian in this time period but he’s pretty sure that no one was living underwater and that alcohol was still the inebriant of choice. God, Russia…Fuck. He passes out again into his king-size waterbed.

He is awoken by his mate Lancelot, singing a Beatles song rather off-key. So at least they have had the Beatles in this strange oceanic place. Lancelot is dancing around Arthur’s suite, throwing open the curtains to let the sunlight stream through the clear water and into Arthur’s aching eyes. Arthur admires the dazzling turquoise watery scene outside quickly before burrowing under the covers. The bed swims underneath him. Aren’t these people sick of bloody water everywhere?

“Rise and shine sleepyhead, your father wants to see you!” Lancelot sing-songs.

Arthur groans and hides further. It’s not that he’s not happy to have inherited a good friend but one with an Arthurian name is just twisted.

“Hey Lance,” Arthur grumbles, and then attempts to form more words, “You’re annoyingly chipper this morning. Something to do with Gwen, hmm?”

Lancelot is now bouncing on the bed. With every rolling of the waterbed, Arthur feels a little more sick, which he didn’t think was possible.

“What’s a Gwen? Is that another one of your drugs?” Lancelot asks with mock-disapproval, as they both know he does more weed than the dome can provide.

Lancelot bounces again. Arthur falls out of bed.

Hearing such carefree laugher from his friend nearly makes up for his bruised backside. Nearly.

“Guinevere!” Arthur exclaims, “You know, the Arthurian legends…I’m king and I marry Gwen but she fancies you and Merlin, well, Merlin…”

Lancelot looks at him blankly.

“You really have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

Lancelot shakes his head, “No. But I think it’s pretty rich you’ve named a bunch of stories after yourself. Is this something you guys made up last night? Probably while attempting to climb the ruddy landtower to find that girl. What was her name? Guinevere did you say?”

“Oh, you uneducated tosspot.”

Lancelot hits him, and ok, that’s fair.

“Forget it.” Arthur says, “My point is, that you have a stupid name.”

This begins a playful slapping war of some kind which Arthur is on the verge of losing (only because of his splitting memory-induced headache) when the room communicator buzzes.

“Call it a draw?” Arthur wheezes.

Lancelot laughs, “Only because it’s your birthday.”

Arthur stretches and clicks the communicator, “Yep,” he answers lazily.

A voice comes through, clear as day and familiar as hell, “It’s Uther. You’re late. I expect you in the conference room in five minutes.”

Arthur clicks the comm off and groans into his palms. This world was somehow horribly reminiscent of his first life, and yet jarringly different – the strange static atmosphere, the water instead of land, and worse, no Merlin. It feels like a constant déjà vu. But if this was his punishment for his last lifetime, he got off pretty damn lightly because that… that was horrific. He never thought he would kill Merlin. Never. And now, he is in an alternate universe or limbo or just a really fucking weird dream and he has a sinking feeling that this time, he won’t be meeting Merlin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, we're going to be in this AU for a while until Arthur (and myself) can muddle a way out of it. And as a fun fact, as soon as I wrote "underwater" I immediately got that Year 3000 Busted song in my head; if you don't know what I'm on about, be grateful, if you do, I really hope you're sharing my torture.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I read through this story and I know for certain I'm mad. Thank you anyone who has even read this far, you are far braver than I am.

Arthur takes to his new life quite well. It’s like someone just put his original life in the 21st century and underwater. The coincidences are uncanny. Even the corridors of Buckingham Palace seem to twist in the same way that they did in Camelot castle. King Uther is almost reassuringly similar even down to the alcohol (sorry, green _juice_ ) problem that he’s had in every shared lifetime. Arthur recalls from his inherited memory that juice is made from fermented seaweed, so perhaps it is not that different after all.

Arthur is lucky that in his apparently urgent breakfast meeting with Uther, he isn’t actually expected to say all that much. He gets away with the good ol’ “smile and nod” approach the majority of the time, and spends the rest of the time subtly looking out of the window at this peculiar world.

He squints to try and see the edge of the glass bubble. He knows it’s there somewhere, but it’s hard to differentiate between the different shades of blue. Instead he analyses the oxygen tube outside the palace, what Lancelot had called the "landtower". It is roughly where Queen Victoria memorial used to be in Ordinary London, and it stretches up above him, presumably to the atmosphere above the ocean. He knows from lessons as a child here that the dome produces most of its oxygen in generators and the tube is mostly used for circulation, but all this knowledge seems second-hand and Arthur still struggles to get his head around it. He estimates that this bubble is pretty close to the surface of the ocean due to the sunlight that filters through, but he wonders if the static feeling is due to being pressurised which would negate that.

He feels edgy with the need to go exploring and simultaneously wants to curl up and sleep off his reincarnation-hangover. He pokes at eggs and toast on his plate and takes one sniff of the hot beverage served to him before deciding that it definitely wasn’t coffee and therefore not worth trying.

After two hours of what appears to be a regular morning news rundown from the representatives of United Counties and political advisors and royal staff, the meeting adjourns, and Arthur practically runs to the exit having spent that two hours tantalising himself with the idea of adventure.

Outside the palace, the atmosphere is much the same – uneasy, almost electric, like a static shock that won’t abide. It was irritating. Almost as irritating as this constant quite-like-Camelot, quite-like-London, but-actually-like-a-screwed-up-Atlantis déjà vu.

“Fancy seeing you here,” drawls someone behind him.

“Gwaine!” Arthur exclaims, giving the man a hug bordering on too enthusiastic.

“You looked pretty out of it, mate. Don’t go thinking too hard, will you? It’s not natural.”

Arthur laughs, falling into step with Gwaine instinctively as they walk around pseudo-London.  Or, perhaps more accurately, bits of London, just cut and pasted onto the floor of a dome alongside tower blocks and transport tubes suspended above them and god knows what else.

“God no, I wasn’t thinking hard. I was thinking about Atlantis.”

“Oh, Atlanta? The bar on west side? We can head there if you want – “ Gwaine said, turning direction down by a park. Was that grass red? Not important.

“Wait, Gwaine, are you telling me you've never heard of Atlantis? The lost city? Underwater? Any of this ringing bells?”

Gwaine’s blank look spoke volumes. It looked awfully similar to Lancelot’s expression this morning when Arthur made a reference to Arthurian legend.

“Lance is making you read too much. You sound like a tosser. Next you’ll be expecting me to recite Austen to you. “Oh, Mr.Darcy!”” Gwaine mocks.

“Ha! You have Austen then!” Arthur exclaims, ignoring Gwaine’s childishness in his excitement, “What about Shakespeare? Chaucer? H.G.Wells?”

Gwaine stops in his tracks.

They are standing in front of a grey concrete building. It’s the shabbiest thing for miles, all architecture being either new and practical or historic and comfortable.  

“Er, is this the bar?” Arthur asks, hazily trying to recall his memory of this place.

“No, dumbass. This is the library. If you’re going to be dull and list blokes I’ve never heard of, you can at least do it to someone who cares. Well, Gaius will probably care. At least more than me.”

Arthur’s heart jumps at the name. In previous lives, where Gaius was, Merlin was never that far away.

Gwaine bumps shoulders with Arthur as he leaves, giving a friendly wave over his shoulder, “Let me know when fun Arthur is back!”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Life got busy, so even though I knew exactly what had to be written, I couldn't post until now.

The library is sparse to say the least. It has the feel of an old village hall; neglected and dusty. About the right size too, only a dozen bookcases lined periodically through the room, Arthur had had bigger bedrooms. The only light was electrically generated; giving an artificial feel to the otherwise nostalgic library.

His footsteps echo on the wooden floorboards. He is absently searching for the information desk or for a sign of Gaius, when he finds the history section. Arthur pauses to read a few of the bookcase labels: ancient history, terran history, recent history. Arthur recalls the term “Terran” refers to the period of the several thousand years for which the land was inhabitable before the domes were constructed. Arthur is more interested in what constitutes “Ancient” as there only appears to be half a bookcase on this subject: Roman inventions, Greek wars, Iron Age buildings.

Perhaps the Roman histories were filed elsewhere. It was starting to worry him that his cultural references seemed to fall on deaf ears, even the most basic of them, because surely if this world can engineer ginormous glass domes underwater then they can also read Shakespeare. Perhaps he should search for the literature section. With a pang of dread, Arthur sees a tacked up sign nearby: “Fiction”. This is the adjoining bookcase with a scattering of what Arthur would never consider literary: realist novels, all of them; romantic drivel and family dramas. In the real world (for this bizarre underwater city certain did not count), these were the types of books you would pick up at an airport in preference to staring at your shoelaces for nine hours. There are no airports here.

Arthur feels nauseous at how all the pieces of the puzzle are starting to fit…this world is not right at all.

A cough startles him and a familiar voice asks, “Can I help you, sire?”

Arthur could have kissed him, “Gaius!”

“’Afternoon.” Gaius says, politely puzzled. “Are you looking for help with a project? The engineering texts are over by – “

“Er, no, actually,” Arthur interrupts, “Do you have any…?” He looks around the sparse library and decides it’s probably best to start simple, “Any Shakespeare?”

Gaius looks more confused than usual, “Sorry sire, I didn’t quite catch – “

“Shakespeare, comma William. Plays. Poetry. Romeo and Juliet.”

“Poetry? I don’t –“

“Shit.”

“Sire?”

Ok, the world was seriously fucked. Only the right answer to the one question Arthur always had perched at the front of his mind could possibly save this. He was so anxious, he passively considered moving to a bin so he wouldn’t hurl all over the polished wooden floor, but he asks anyway, “Gaius…”, he takes a deep breath, “Do you know where Merlin is?”

“Sire, are you quite well?”

“Answer me dammit.” Arthur clenches his sweaty palms. He wants to go home. “Merlin. Do you know him?”

“No,” Gaius says, “I don’t believe I do.”

Arthur runs out of the building.

He falls on the pavement. His heart pounds in his ear, his stomach churns, his breathing comes fast and ragged. He knows what panic attacks are. He vaguely remembers a time in a Brighton flat when he and Merlin had them almost simultaneously. And then fell down the stiars. Right, not helping. Arthur doubts if he can get out of this particular panic attack with old memories assaulting him and the static crawling under his skin and as soon as he’s thought it, it gets ten times worse. It feels like he is dying. Again. Merlin’s death haunts every heartbeat, the feel of blood on his hands, he can feel it even now. Arthur stares at his palms, either they are shaking or the pavement is swimming. He killed him and now everything is wrong. Arthur knows without a doubt that there is no Merlin in this world. He never was and never will be; the opposite of the “once and future” that their literature spoke of and that their reincarnations used to embrace so perversely. Arthur is truly alone for the first time in memory.

Strangely, this calms him. The certainty of binary oppositions, that they might somehow be reversed again. The world slowly comes into focus. He can feel the grit beneath his palms, see the milling crowds in the street around him, hear a concerned Gaius behind him… The sudden awareness makes him realise that the strange static in the atmosphere must actually have been in his head. A physical manifestation perhaps of the missing part. Arthur focuses on the static, he searches in his mind until he comes to be surrounded by the buzz, what has become a comforting hum now he associates it with Merlin. It settles, content for now.

The world feels less skewed with the belief that Merlin was still with him somehow. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I will fix this. I will.”

Arthur looks up into the endless blue above him and for moment he is reminded of that beautiful evening in Trafalgar Square with a familiar stranger beside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This really has got weird. Seriously, this story has a life of its own. Now I'm undecided whether to have a flashback at this point (cardigan!Merlin and curator!Arthur) or to continue on Arthur's quest to escape the alternate universe.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting - house move, no internet, other sucky life things getting in the way of fandom. But this is a cute chapter and also the longest yet, so I hope that makes up for it. 
> 
> I suggest you go back and remind yourself of the setting in the very first chapter because this takes place immediately after. More or less Present Day, London, before this Alternate Universe mayhem, ok? 
> 
> Also a disclaimer that I know NOTHING about art, museums, and ok a little about mythology, but seriously if there is anything inaccurate it's totally my fault, feel free to throw they-didn't-have-tomatoes-in-Medieval-England tomatoes at me.

[FLASHBACK to Present Day London (as seen in Chapter 1)]

 

Arthur has faith that fate will bring Merlin back to him, he just didn’t think it would be quite so soon.

Yesterday, they had endured a disastrous meeting in Trafalgar Square wherein Arthur sounded like a stalker and Merlin was synonymous with the colloquialism “stand-offish”. They usually got off on the wrong foot though, so Arthur assumes that after a couple of days, or weeks, or however long it takes for fate to intervene, they would meet again and this time be the cause of the better kind of sparks.

Arthur attempts to push Merlin to the back of his mind and focus on this art curating business that he has inherited. Oddly, in the lives where Arthur has been working, the job usually involves history or mythology on some level, and it’s something that Arthur’s actively interested in having actually lived in these historical periods, however briefly. In the 18th century, Arthur was rather ironically involved in the task of collaborating Arthurian Legends and allowed himself a little embellishment to some stories while having to sneakily rewrite other accounts to make them a snatch closer to the truth.

A couple of centuries later of course and people are still reinventing the legends, and Arthur has to bite his tongue not to correct people on their dire pronunciations and huge generalisations. That doesn’t mean to say he doesn’t digest absolutely everything Arthurian in every lifetime however, even if the adaptations come nowhere near to the bundle of contradictions that is _his_ Merlin. In the gaps between beginning a new life and meeting a new Merlin, Arthur takes time to check up on new Arthurian stories just to see glimpses of his old life.

The world’s continuous fascination with mythology almost seems like a personal vendetta against Arthur, constantly reminding him where he comes from and cannot get back to, and so it seems particularly cruel but also fascinating that Arthur is working on a “Modern Mythology” display at the National Gallery showcasing the best of mythology portrayed in art since the 1900s. Today is the day that the exhibition opens and Arthur along with three other members of staff, the artistic director, and a whole range of artists and agents and important-looking people in suits are nervously doing the last checks before it is opened to the public at 9am.

Arthur probably managed about ninety minutes sleep last night between the high of meeting Merlin (or Martin as he is in this reincarnation) and the stress of the new exhibition. At 5am, Arthur had given up on sleep entirely having remembered several different last minute things he had to arrange before opening, and has since then, been running around the gallery fuelled only by cheap coffee.

Needless to say that by 3pm in the afternoon, after the press has died down and the gallery is experiencing the mid-afternoon lull of parents collecting schoolchildren; Arthur has fallen into a stupor. He is slouched behind the information desk, eyes glazed over, only jolting awake for large parties of tourists or art critics with difficult questions. Arthur has far surpassed his caffeine limit and is now crashing – hard.

So, when Merlin wanders in, it takes Arthur an embarrassingly long time to realise he is not dreaming. By which time, Merlin is studying the third painting with a tilted head, probably trying to untangle Medusa’s two dozen snakes which as Arthur has already deduced (because he stared at it for at least an hour before grudgingly admitting it to the collection), is mathematically impossible. There are more tails than pairs of eyes.

Arthur considers standing up and telling Merlin this, but he's too captivated just watching the slight movements in his neck and shoulders as he changes perspective. Arthur catches himself and thinks that he’s not helping his current “stalker” reputation that he acquired last night. Then again, it is Merlin in his gallery… after he told him that he works here…perhaps the stalking is going both ways. Or perhaps, Arthur should stop being so self-involved. Merlin could just be a local and stopping by to see the new exhibition. That makes sense.

Despite his calm thoughts, Arthur still dumbly stares at Merlin as he moves on to another painting. Arthur is horribly nervous and wants to both run to Merlin and hide under his desk at the same time. Just as Arthur is seriously considering the latter option, he notices something in Merlin’s demeanour – how he is playing with the sleeves on his cardigan, fists clenched over the fabric but fingers fraying the hem, just like how he used to with his long-sleeved shirts in Camelot when he was nervous. As soon as he sees one sign, he sees them all – the scuffling shoes, the slight shaking of the left leg, and the self-conscious way he occasionally checks around him. The familiar signs of nervousness cause a twisting in his stomach and a clenched and sweaty fist in imitation of Merlin’s. Arthur wonders if he is the cause of the anxiety – if Merlin has seen him, or is just afraid he might bump into his stalker from last night, or perhaps he is just socially awkward, although Arthur knows Merlin too well for that: this is the look of Merlin trying to hide a crush. Arthur tries to hide the inadvertent grin that has just been plastered over his face at that thought.

Arthur takes a deep breath and strides over to Merlin a lot more confidently than he feels. It is only when he is two paces away that he realises which painting Merlin is studying. It’s him. Well, not _him_ exactly, it’s an imagining of Prince Arthur pulling the sword from the stone. Fate is a bitch. Arthur falters, and Merlin turns at the sudden silence.

“Sor – I’m – “ Arthur starts, caught off guard, “Hi. I mean, hi. Martin, right?” That could have gone smoother.

There’s a little smile at the corner of Merlin’s mouth which implies Arthur’s stuttering introduction is forgiven. “Hello Arthur,” he replies sweetly. Merlin then shuffles his feet and turns his back to study the painting, clearly uncomfortable again.

Not knowing what else to do, Arthur does his job, “This is one of our most recent acquisitions. The painter has a long-standing fascination with Arthurian legends but this is the first time Smith has drawn this scene. It’s quite an interesting take, I think.”

“Why do you say that?” Merlin asks, as if he actually wants to hear Arthur’s opinion on the matter.

Arthur steps closer to the painting; it is a large oil canvas of a dark forest with a muscular man pulling with all his strength to extract Excalibar from the rock. “For one thing, most interpretations of this scene nowadays are of a very young boy – you have Disney to thank for that,” Arthur adds and is pleased when Merlin’s mouth quirks in acknowledgement, “But this figure has clearly entered puberty.  He is a man, even, probably already running his father’s kingdom. The background as well, you will note, is a forest, again unusual. But the most interesting thing,” Arthur pauses and steps even closer, until he can feel Merlin’s shoulder rub against his, “You see this here?” Arthur points to the dark trees and is pleased when Merlin moves closer to get a good look.

“There’s a figure in the background,” Merlin surmises.

“Yes. It’s Merlin.”

Merlin looks directly into Arthur’s eyes with a surprising amount of assurance, “How do you know?” he asks.

_Because we were both there, you prat._

“I suppose I don’t,” Arthur shrugs, and Merlin turns back to the art, “But some texts support Merlin’s intervention at this stage and personally I take the stance that their lives were always intertwined.” He looks across to Merlin, “And they always will be…” he whispers.

“You’re wrong.” Merlin says.

Arthur’s heart stutters, “What do you mean?” He asks harshly.

“Oh no,” Merlin corrects, physically waving off the misunderstanding, “I mean about why it’s a good interpretation. I have no doubt that’s Merlin behind him.”

“You don’t?”

“No, I know it is. Gaius told me.”

“Gaius?”

“The artist.” Merlin said calmly and slapped himself on the forehead, “Sorry, shit. I mean, G.M. Smith.”

“Gaius... _Gaius_ is the artist. Of course he bloody well is.” Arthur grumbles to himself. In the lifetimes when Gaius is present, he always seems to weasel himself into their path. It’s both comforting that Merlin has a trusted guardian and annoying as hell that Gaius will just crop up without warning and give him the disapproving eyebrow that Arthur swears never changes.

“Hmmm?” Merlin asks, thankfully having been too focused on the painting to hear Arthur’s muttering.

“Oh um, why do you think it’s a good interpretation?”

Merlin steps away from Arthur and towards the painted Arthur on the wall. He looks up at the face with fascination. “You can read him so well here. Arthur looks in pain. Afraid or lost or tired. As if he’ll have all the answers if he pulls out that sword. Just… “ He trails off, turning back to realtime Arthur to gesture with his hands, “Smith always paints him, not as a hero but as a person, and sometimes, like in this one, Arthur just looks so lonely and sad, but you have to look real close to tell, y’know?”

Merlin is grinning with delight at his explanation but Arthur can only stare. He feels see-through. Merlin has just recited his deep, ancient, delicate feelings like an answer in a lecture theatre. And he got the answer right. Everything that Prince Arthur was feeling then, and everything that curator Arthur is feeling now. Arthur can’t speak, but luckily Merlin doesn’t seem to mind and has turned back to study the painting further.

“I think it’s great that people still care about mythology. All those silly Arthurian legends. But I mean, can you imagine our world without it? Everything is inspired by everything else and if no one started then, well,” he points at the dramatic oil painting, “We wouldn’t have that, would we?”

“No.” Arthur says dumbly, “Stories are important.”

“Yes, all those big things about being human, it wouldn’t be at all right without …Are you ok?” Merlin trails off, turning to check on Arthur, “You seem…Oh, did I talk too much? I’m sorry, I do that sometimes it’s – “

“No, you’re lovely.” Arthur cuts in. “Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. I forget sometimes how wise you, um, some people can be, and how…I just think you got that right about what Arthur, sorry, Prince Arthur is, was, feeling, and mythology is important and I’m sorry about being creepy yesterday and for my inarticulate…ness today but,” Arthur runs his hand over his face and hair in frustration, “Long day. Shit, I’ve been up since dawn and I really need either caffeine or sleep but I got another two hours here, you’re great though, and I want to hear more - ”

Merlin blushes. He looks down at his fingers which are fraying the sleeve of his cardigan, “Why don’t we - ?” Still hiding his eyes from Arthur, Merlin shuffles so he’s standing directly in front him.

Arthur can’t think of a single thing Merlin could possible say that wouldn’t result in him saying “Yes.”

“I can grab us coffee and we can talk more? Can you have drinks in here even? I’ll ask, or, wait, I suppose you’re the – Maybe we could wait then. Or now, if that’s - “

“Mer – _Martin_ ,” Arthur corrects himself quickly, “Coffee sounds good. Really, anything is good. As long as you’re…”

Merlin looks up hopefully. Their eyes meet. Arthur doesn’t even need to finish the sentence: _As long as you’re here, Merlin, everything is ok._


	9. Chapter 9

The sun is setting over New London; the upmost levels of the underwater city seem to sparkle in the dying light. Arthur has had a very long day. After his panic attack outside the library, Arthur took a walk around the city, trying to piece the mystery of this alternate universe together. He took to ignoring his communicator as he worked, knowing that Uther was going to shout at him anyway and it may as well be later, and also the illogical fear that talking with others would push the comforting static of Merlin from his head. Arthur now sits on the roof of Buckingham Palace watching the setting sun because at least then he can tell Uther that he technically has been home all evening. 

From this height, Arthur feels like he could just reach up and touch the interior of the dome if he wished. He had climbed up here originally at low tide a couple of hours ago, when the water had ebbed lower and from Arthur’s vantage point he could see the true sky and some hills in the distance. It is strange to think that London is flooded. That they had to build several interconnected glass domes to keep the water at bay. Some mythology claims a connection between magic and nature; as if one fails, the other will too. Arthur wonders if he also destroyed the world as he knew it by killing Merlin. The static hums in the back of his head, reassuring him. _Why did you know me then and not in any other life?_ He asks of it, but he is met with silence.

Arthur sighs, and watches a couple of silver fish swim far above his head.

There was no mythology here. How could this society have achieved so much but somehow missed out on the fundamental concepts of stories? Or, more accurately, stories with _meaning_ \- legends, fables, myths, poetry… he tries to recall Merlin’s argument about mythology as a basis for morals that they had discussed over coffee a couple of decades ago, but it has been lost over time.

What he does remember is Merlin’s belief that everything only existed because it was inspired by something else. Was it as simple as no one knowing how to create mythology? No one had started and so no one followed. It would make sense but it did beg the question, how did you _create_ mythology?

Arthur’s communicator makes another sound at him. He glances down at the scene and is surprised to see it is Lancelot calling him.

He answers, “Hey Lance.”

“Hey! Head feeling better?”  

“Yeah, about that,” Arthur said, “I just remembered something. Did you say I climbed a tower last night?”

“You tried to, yeah. The landtower outside your house, y’know? The tube that goes outside the dome?”

Arthur can see it from where he sits. The huge see-through tube is directly in front of him, where a statue used to be if this was actual London. It is the air circulation tube that he had analysed over breakfast that morning. He follows its path up with his eyes until it disappears into the roof of the dome and into the outside world. Arthur tries to recall if he saw where it emerged at low tide, when he could see the hills in the distance, but he cannot remember seeing anything directly above him but sky.

“Why did you just call it a tower? Towers are buildings.”

“I called it the landtower,” Lancelot says, “Which is what Uther christened the new version after that Earthquake. You really must’ve bumped your head something bad last night mate.”

“Yeah, I must’ve done,” Arthur grumbles. “Um, don’t suppose you remember why I climbed it, do you?”

Arthur can hear a discussion on the other end of the communicator and Lancelot’s voice saying, “I dunno, he’s still being weird. You try.” There was more shuffling and then Gwaine’s voice came on the line.

“Arthur! We’re at the same bar as last night and you’ll never guess who’s here.”

“Guinevere.” Arthur says.

“Ok…so maybe you will guess. But there’s a whole bunch of the gang here too, Leon, Percy, mate it’s mental, get down here.”

“Sure,” Arthur says, brushing him off, “You were with me last night, right?”

There’s a pause on the line and then, “What the hell have you done this time?”

“Nothing!” Arthur says automatically before realising that he had no idea if that was actually true or not, “Look, do you remember me trying to climb the landtower?”

“Ha, yeah, that was great.” Gwaine huffs.

“Do you remember why?”

“You were drunk.”

“Seriously, Gwaine.”

“What? It’s a gooda reason as any.”

There is more muffled conversation that Arthur can’t make out. And then Gwaine comes back on, “Alright, there was something you said about a quest but I figured it was just a quest to get into Gwen’s pants cos she lives near there. Happy now? Will you come to the bar already?”

A quest? Did the Arthur in this world know that something was about to happen?

“Sure Gwaine, I’ll be there, but first I need to get outta here without Uther seeing me.”

“You’re at home?” Gwaine asked.

It is dark now and Arthur looks up from his position of the palace roof, trying to locate the stars. The tide has come in too far though and all he can see is inky water stretched out above him.

It does not feel like home at all.

Arthur feels the static at the back of his mind and knows that sadly this is as close as he is going to get to home unless he can somehow create a mythology and get the world back on track. Even then there is no guarantee that he would be magically placed back home. Home, he had realised after countless regenerations, was where Merlin was.

 _Please_ , Arthur thinks, _Please let me have Merlin. Even if I’m stuck in this Atlantis-knockoff for life, I wouldn’t care if he was here. Please._

The nightsky does not answer him.

Arthur climbs off the roof and towards his friends, hoping that his reincarnated band of knights will help in the quest he has set himself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks, thanks for sticking with it. I'm not gonna lie, I've written myself into quite the maze and I need some time to figure out exactly how Arthur is gonna get out of this alternative universe and what happens next. I have an idea but I probably need to try out a few things before posting it. This is why I've been slow to update, and it's likely to continue while I'm still figuring these things out (and juggling countless other stories btw). It'll get there, but thank you for being patient with me.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience!

The plan goes reasonably well, at least the part where Arthur gets his reincarnated knights drunk enough on seaweed-juice to agree to the quest to the surface. The part of the plan that didn’t go so well, was the fact that they were now too out of their heads to be much use at all. Lancelot was the most sober of the group, and that probably had something to do with the way Guinevere was watching their table from the bar. Intensely.

“So Lance, you reckon you can access the workman’s ladder to the Landtower?”

He nods and needlessly tousles his hair, no doubt for their audience, “Yeah, from what I remember from the blueprints, there are rungs, you just gotta find the switch that will flick them out. Then it should be straight up and out through the hatch.”

Arthur sighs in relief.

“Though you have to get to the ladder first.”

“What do you mean?” Arthur asks, his stomach dropping, of course it wasn’t going to be so easy.

Lancelot shrugs, “The tower is the air circulation for this whole dome. It’s pretty strong. If you go near a vent...it wouldn’t end well.”

Percival makes a slurping noise and gestures with his hands to depict how Arthur was likely to die. The knights laugh. Arthur wonders what it’s like to die by being sucked through a hole half the size of you and then bashed around the circulation system until you got spewed out a bloody mess at either end.

“Then you’ve got the Star structure of connecting tubes,” Lancelot continues, “I don’t know what happens to the ladder when it reaches it – you might have to crawl around them.”

“You mean the horizontal tubes near the top?” Arthur asks, remembering that there is a star-like formation of tubes connected to the Tower that spread out across the width of the dome.

“Actually they’re near not the top at all,” Leon says, “Optical illusion. The Star’s actually only about halfway up.”

“You’re still talking about free climbing over a transparent cylinder fifty metres off the ground though,” Percival grins.

“Remember once you’re at the top, you’ll also need to work out how to open the hatch to outside,” Lancelot adds.

“And the outside might kill you,” Leon says.

“Yeah, we’re not all living down here for funsies,” Percival winks.

Gwaine chooses this moment to chip in, “And then there’s the fact that you’re the fucking _prince_ and you want to break the law by violating the Tower that’s keeping us alive. We’re gonna be swamped by the police and your dad’s gonna be royally pissed.”

Through his abstract horror, Arthur does detect one thing; “We?”

Gwaine grins, “We said we’d do it, didn’t we?”

“Oh count us all in why don’t you?” Leon grumbles.

“Yeah but if we don’t then…what was it again Arthur?” Gwaine slurs.

Arthur sighs and says seriously, “If we don’t, then I will never see Merlin again. I think the only way to return to my universe is to create mythology so Merlin can exist and the world can right itself. So we’re going on a quest to the old world to find out where it went wrong and hope that it is considered legend-worthy enough that magic will be reborn and so will Merlin. ”

The table erupts in laughter.

Arthur tries to remember if his original group of knights were this easily amused, or such drunkards, or stupid enough to agree to anything Arthur said. They probably were.

Guinevere shoots them a pitying smile and walks over, “Did I hear you correctly?” she asks Arthur.

“I dunno,” Arthur shrugs, “Do you think I’m crazy?”

She laughs, “I’ve never heard anyone talk like that before. It’s refreshing.”

Arthur is fairly certain Guinevere is flirting with him. And even more certain that Lancelot is shooting daggers.

“He hit his head falling from the Tower yesterday and has been speaking this crap all day,” Gwaine says in way of an explanation, “I don’t understand half of what he’s saying either.”

“But you’re all going on this, quest, thing anyway?” Guinevere asks, trying the word “quest” on her tongue like it’s a foreign language. It probably is in this alternate universe.

“I have to,” Arthur says.

An idea occurs to him and he jumps on it, “Do you want to come with us?”

“Yeah, film us!” Lancelot grins, clearly happy to have an excuse to see her.

Arthur asks a question with his eyebrows.

“Oh, um, I’m a film student. I make documentaries mostly…” Guinevere says.

“Best in the class so I hear,” Lancelot says smoothly.

Arthur finds Lancelot’s charm nauseating but Guinevere seems to appreciate it, blushing under his attention.

“Well, I wouldn’t say – “

Lancelot waves off her humility, “You said your project fell through, right? You can film us instead, if that’s ok with Arthur?”

Arthur nods.

Lancelot continues, “The Prince doesn’t climb the Landtower to find his lost love every day, and there’s no one better to document it then you Gwen. I saw your film about the rising acidity in the oceans and…”

Lancelot continues to geek over documentaries with Guinevere, and Arthur thinks he couldn’t have planned it better if he tried. Filming it? Surely that was the modern and alternate universe equivalent of the epic poems written about his original adventures.

Guinevere agrees to film the quest.

Arthur, Lancelot, Gwaine and Guinevere leave for the Tower, while Leon plans for the other knights to cause enough nuisance to distract the authorities from Arthur’s ridiculous heroics.

Arthur feels the static hum contently in his head as if Merlin was agreeing on this course of action despite how mad it was. But somehow with every step towards the Tower, Arthur became more certain that was the right thing to do. Someone has to start writing the stories…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter makes me cringe (sorry, wrote it through writer's block) but unfortunately it's needed to get on the next chapter which is way more fun, so without further ado...


	11. Chapter 11

The Landtower is a struggle but Arthur and his companions make it to the surface before sunrise. Luckily it is also low-tide and so do not flood the circulation with water. Luckily, also they can breathe. Arthur tries not to be wary of how this all seems a little too easy.

He is even more suspicious when a strip of land appears to lead from the Landtower to a sandy island in the distance. Despite Merlin’s assurances (in the form of a pulsing, comforting hum) that it is safe, Arthur can’t help but feel sceptical.

He watches Lancelot give a hand to the exhausted Guinevere and close the hatch behind them. They stand, precariously balanced, on the glass surface of the dome.

Gwaine looks down at the city below them, “Urgh. That’s just not right.”

Arthur has to agree. It’s more than a little nauseating being suspended so high above the city. He can see the crowds of people below – probably the authorities have noticed their absence by now – as nothing more than a small mass of coloured movement between buildings.

“Afraid of heights, Gwaine?” Guinevere teases.

Gwaine scoffs , “As if.”

Arthur doesn’t mention that how his skin has turned quite green, or how he feels equally as sick. And exhausted. Arthur hasn’t slept for twenty-four hours now.

He returns to studying their surroundings. The air feels warmer, and more restrictive, as if there is not enough oxygen to breathe. He can’t decide what is worse: the static air of inside the dome, or the empty air of outside. The sunrise makes the shallow water around them almost pink and for the first time, Arthur can feel real sunlight on his skin. The ocean is vast around them, but there are various bits of land and architecture sticking out in various places, hinting at the world the ocean is hiding below.

Arthur watches the others marvel. Gwaine particularly seems excited by the new sensations. Guinevere  views the new world through the screen of her hand-held camera. And Lancelot, ever aware, seems to be analysing the bridge of land that Arthur was a minute earlier.

Lancelot says, “There’s a path leading to that….”

“Island,” Arthur supplies.

Lancelot nods. Of course he would struggle to recall what is, for these people, a historic word.

The others shuffle towards Lancelot on the slippery glass to get a better look.

“That wasn’t there before,” Gwaine says, “We would have seen it from the city.”

Is there magic in the outside world? What else could cause a floating strip of firm sand to appear in the midst of an ocean?

“I don’t trust it,” Arthur says, putting his thoughts into words for the sake of his companions, “This all seems too easy.”

“Do you have a better idea?” Lancelot asks.

No. No he doesn’t. Arthur bites his tongue. What other options do they have, really?

Arthur experiences a sudden pang in his gut. He wishes Merlin was here. The sensation must be caused from missing Merlin, and it’s odd but because of his constant reincarnation, he never really had the opportunity to miss him before. (Discounting Russia, of course, Arthur has learnt not to think of Russia as it causes the buzz in his head to sound more like a swarm of wasps). But, here, standing on a glass dome, surrounded by water, trapped in his strange world, Arthur misses Merlin with a newfound depth. Because although Arthur always joked about Merlin’s stupidity, it was always him that got them out of sticky situations. And right now, Arthur is faced with something magical and he doesn’t know what to do because it was always Merlin that knew. Call it wisdom, or intuition, or just plain dumb luck – Merlin would always do what was right.

And if he could trust Merlin then, he can trust Merlin now and follow the little push in his head that says to trust the path in front.

Arthur takes a confident step onto the sandy bridge. He feels the three pairs of eyes and a camera on him, and then three synced sighs of relief when the bridge holds his weight. Despite its apparent brittleness, it feels perfectly sturdy beneath his feet. Like it is concrete beneath him, and not merely an illusion. And the tops of the ocean lap at his feet like waves.

They follow the path towards the island, but as they get closer, Arthur realises that it is not an island at all, but looks suspiciously like a shopping mall – covered in algae and definitely worse for wear – but the shape is telling. As ocean beside them gets shallower on approach, Arthur looks down and sees other remains of buildings. This must be one of the old towns that was abandoned when the water rose. Arthur wonders if it is part of London itself, that there were parts that didn’t make it beneath the New London dome and he feels nostalgic for the histories that were left to be eaten at by fish. The shopping mall must have been built upon a hill as concrete is slanted towards the once-grand entrance as if it used to be a car park.

Arthur hears a gasp behind him and turns to see Guinevere shaking behind the camera.

“What? What is it?” Arthur asks.

She points to the large derelict shopping mall and at first, doesn’t see anything particularly wrong until he sees a dark green figure in front of the wide doors. A man that looks to be made from algae himself.

Arthur stops in fear, he feels the others behind him pause, and the static (Merlin) stir in curiosity. Merlin does not seem afraid though, and so Arthur attempts not to be, inching closer to the shopping mall until they step off the sandy bridge and onto the seaweed-soaked concrete hill.

“Arthur!” Lancelot shouts, “The sand!”

Arthur turns around, but it is too late, the bridge has dissolved into the sea, the sand falling down to the depths of the ocean. They are trapped.

Arthur turns back to face the shopping mall but instead comes face-to-face with the man made of algae.

Arthur instinctively jumps back and spreads his arms, attempting to defend his friends behind him, although their feet are backed against the ocean and have nowhere to go. And the only weapon they have is a camcorder. Whatever the man wanted, they would probably have to obey.

“What…what is that?” Guinevere asks.

“I think you mean _who_ ,” the man says, “Don’t you recognise me?”

The man smiles, showing his cracked and rotting teeth. He is no more than a skeleton wearing seaweed. And then Arthur realises where his yellow eyes are looking when he asked the question – not in response to Guinevere, not to Arthur or Lancelot, but to _Gwaine_.

“The Green Knight,” Arthur whispers in awe, “You’re the Green Knight.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How bloody ironic is it that I used mythology as a tool to overcome my writers block? The same damn thing that Arthur needs to escape the alternate universe. FFS that's just ridiculous. But, yeah, also the Green Knight is awesome so this shall be fun indeed! Thanks for reading, folks.


	12. Chapter 12

Arthur has no idea how to begin explaining the mythology of the Green Knight to his companions who don’t even understand the concept of storytelling. At least the Green Knight doesn’t seem in particular hurry to challenge them this time; the algae-covered skeleton leans on his infamous battle axe almost lazily as he assess them. And Merlin’s presence seems more excited than nervous if Arthur’s interruption of the wordless hum is at all reliable.

The Green Knight is as polite as ever as he greets his old opponent, “Sir Gwaine, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance once more.”

Gwaine squints at the man and then looks between the Green Knight and Arthur as if an explanation would become apparent. “Am I missing something?” he asks.

“Yeah, you knew him in another life,” Arthur says, “Long story.”

Gwaine grunts and raises an eyebrow, accepting the madness as he has every step of this strange journey.

Arthur turns to the Green Knight, “And how is it that you are here exactly?”

“My, do you always expect answers to be given to you so readily, Prince Arthur?”

Arthur had forgotten over the centuries how irritating his politeness could be.

“No…sir, but these aren’t exactly normal circumstances.”

“You want your world back; to restore the balance of nature and magic and myth,” the Green Knight infers, he taps his scabby chin in thought, “It is certainly a noble quest, Prince Arthur. And I shall help you find what you are seeking, you need only to realise what that actually is.”

The Green Knight tilts his head as he notices Guinevere’s camera, “And this is Lady Guinevere and Sir Lancelot?”

Lancelot waves awkwardly and Arthur attempts to stifle his laughter at how ridiculous this entire situation is; his friends look as bemused as they do terrified.

“Yeah, that’s them.”

“Curious, isn’t it? What changes? And what will always remain the same? But of course you know that better than us all, repeating the same pattern life after life.”

Arthur bites back his response; it would do no good to take out his anger about his curse of reincarnation on the powerful Green Knight who seemed to be on their side for once.

“Ah, of course,” the Green Knight continues, “You do not see it yet as a blessing. You will when you realise what our Merlin has done for you. Or perhaps I should say, what he has tried to do.”

“What did - ?”

The Green Knight tuts, “You ask too many questions, Prince Arthur. And the answer will not aid you after you have both rewritten time once more. Please, we must continue.”

The Green Knight stretches and swings his axe from the ground. He gestures towards the derelict shopping mall behind him. Arthur has no choice to follow as the Green Knight walks through the doors. His friends follow closely behind, exchanging worried looks with one another.

“You sure about this mate?” Lancelot whispers.

“I hope so,” Arthur says, “But there’s not much choice in the matter, is there?”

“You know this bloke?” Gwaine asks next, “No, wait, you said _I_ know this bloke? How’s that now?”

Arthur remembers the legend of the Green Knight’s deadly game, and Gwaine’s ridiculous agreement to battle him, and all the feasting and quests and girls and then Arthur smiles upon remembering what one particular aspect of it, “You snogged him.”

Arthur grins when that does actually shut Gwaine up and he hears Guinevere’s quiet giggle from behind the camera.

The dank shopping centre is lit from the hot sun that beats down through the long-collapsed roof. Arthur slips on the floor of moss-covered glass-pebbles and other debris that has been softened by the waves over time. Only the basic structure of the building remains and it is then that Arthur recognises this weary and seaweed soaked place for what it is –

“This is the Isle of the Blessed,” Arthur says in awe, “This is a place of magic.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love it when things start making sense, don't you?

The Green Knight smiles crookedly, showing his algae-covered cracked teeth behind what remains of his lips. “Indeed, Prince Arthur. This is the Isle of the Blessed. Though, much changed.”

Arthur glances around the rotting mall, at the shop names that are part-missing or faded, and remembers that the Green Knight has always been the master of understatement.

“It is not how you remember it,” The Green Knight explains as he leads them to the centre of the shopping centre, swinging his axe casually as he goes, “But this world is broken. Without Merlin, there is no magic, and without magic nature suffers so terribly – “

“The rising sea levels,” Arthur murmurs. Suddenly all the pieces from his inherited memory click into place with his knowledge of the old world, “That’s why we live under water. There’s no land here, is there? We lost it all.”

The Green Knight morosely tilts his head, agreeing, “And I have no home.”

Arthur is concerned to see what was once such a great and powerful being reduced to such a state. He wonders how long the Green Knight has been roaming like a ghost. Whether he has been waiting for Arthur’s arrival. But that question is too daunting to ask.

“The only reason I stand before you now,” he explains, “Is because the Isle protects what is left of old magic.”

The Green Knight stops walking when he reaches what used to be the food court, and leans on his axe, studying them.

“Where is your home?” Guinevere asks.

“In a world that is not this one, Lady Guinevere. Where I am the master of many forests. Where I am the land itself.”

“Forests?” Gwaine asks, testing the foreign word on his tongue.

Both Arthur and the Green Knight turn to him in pity. In another lifetime Gwaine had called the forests his home, and perhaps that was why he had fallen for the Green Knight’s tricks in the days of Legend, precisely because he was the embodiment of the nature that he so loved.

“I read about this,” Lancelot says, “Before we lived under the dome, we used to live on the surface. I think I saw pictures, in a book or something, old paintings. Trees. They were green. Like seaweed.”

Arthur closes his eyes, and allows himself remember, just for a minute, that one reincarnation when he had met Merlin straight away upon waking. It had been in a forest, in the fifteenth century, and they had started a fire in the rain. They had been only friends in that lifetime but Arthur would do anything just to have that opportunity again. The way his eyes seemed to sparkle in the firelight like magic itself.

Arthur opens his eyes to see the Green Knight watching him as if he knows exactly where he has just been in his mind. When he speaks, he is sincere and although he says it to the group, Arthur can feel that his words are really for him, “I can help you put this right.”

Arthur straightens up, determined. “What do you need me to do?”

The Green Knight raises what is left of an eyebrow.

“There is always a sacrifice.”

“Yes, very wise,” the Green Knight sighs, “But this time you cannot simply run away to the Russian countryside. There is only one thing that can restore the world, something of very old magic, and for which you have always been seeking, you know what it is. You need only call its name and show your true self to restore the rightful balance.”

It is a trick. It has to be. It sounds too easy and the Green Knight has a history of deceit. There is some secret he is holding close to his chest. Some part of the puzzle that is missing.

He knows the artefact of which the Green Knight speaks because of the way Merlin’s spirit in his mind shifted in agreement when he had thought of it. And so it is the last part of the Green Knight’s explanation that doesn’t sit right.

“It will restore the old world as I knew it?” Arthur asks.

The Green Knight falters.

Arthur is close.

“As you originally knew it, yes,” the Green Knight says, “It will return you to Camelot in your intended lifetime.”

Something akin to hope stirs within Arthur’s gut, “I get to go home? No more reincarnation? No more time hopping? No more watching him die?”

The Green Knight smiles his gruesome smile and nods, “Indeed.”

Then this really is too good to be true. Arthur stamps down on his instinct to rush in, get this over with so he can be at home with Merlin.

“What aren’t you telling me?” he asks.

“A great many things, young man. You will have to be more specific.”

Arthur groans. He rubs his palms over his tired face. He hasn’t slept since he arrived in this strange world and the last thing he needs is more of the Green Knight’s riddles.

“There’s something he’s not telling us,” he advises his friends, “It can’t be this easy. Think. What doesn’t make sense?”

“Er, everything?” Gwaine says, “We’re on some kind of _land_ right now, we’re talking to a skeleton, and apparently you’re from another world, so…”

Arthur sighs. His knights weren’t going to be a great help here. He starts replaying everything the Green Knight has said, searching for anything that doesn’t make sense, but it is Guinevere that speaks up:

“Before we came into this…building,” Guinevere says from behind her trusty camera, “He said that you were blessed and this is called the Isle of the Blessed.”

“Yes!” Arthur exclaims. He could kiss her he is so overwhelming grateful. “That can’t be a coincidence… I always thought my reincarnation was a curse, but you specifically said _blessing_ ,” Arthur says, rounding on the Green Knight who is looking less sure of himself than he had minutes previously, “You said Merlin had done something for me, that he had tried to do something…” Arthur trails off. He has no idea. None at all.

“I don’t suppose…” Lancelot starts.

Arthur turns towards him and motions for him to continue, at the moment any and all ideas are better than none.

“Well,” he says timidly, “How do you know your old world was the right world? It’s not natural to keep being reborn. Maybe the magic got screwed up somehow.”

Arthur can feel Merlin’s presence his head recoil.

 _Oh_.

That is exactly what happened.

_What did you do, Merlin?_

The Green Knight must be able to see the devastation on his face. He straightens up and places his hands on his axe solemnly.

“He’s right, isn’t he?” Gwaine asks, as apparently Arthur has lost the ability to speak, “This isn’t the right world but neither was the one Arthur was in.”

The Green Knight nods once, stiffly.

“What did you do, Merlin?” Arthur whispers.  Tears of betrayal sting in his eyes. He had never considered that Merlin was the cause of the reincarnations; that all these centuries of watching Merlin die over and over had been self-inflicted. Why? Why would he do that?

It must have been a mistake.

If Arthur’s faith in every version of Merlin wasn’t enough, the guilty hum in his head of whatever was left of his soul would be enough to convince him. Maybe they were both meant to remember their lifetimes each time. Maybe they were both meant to be together eternally. Maybe Merlin had run out of magic while attempting such a large spell. But what was Merlin trying to do by placing him in constant reincarnations? 

Arthur rubs his eyes, trying to make sense of it. Because if Merlin had tried to save him by placing him in this reoccurring nightmare, then their original world must have been truly horrific... 

“I didn’t think you remembered,” the Green Knight says gravely, “That is why you have thought of it only as a curse. Merlin must have erased your memory of that fateful day before casting the final spell.”

“What day? What spell?”

“Tell me, Prince Arthur, what do you know of Camlann?”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long, I hadn't forgotten about you, but life happened. This chapter acts as a bit of a summary because I realise that this got complicated quickly and there's been a long break and I basically need to lay the groundwork for what Arthur is going to do next, the choice that he's going to make, there's probably only a chapter or two to go now. If you're still reading, thank you for your patience, it means a lot.

_Camlann_.

The only place Arthur knows that word from is from textbooks and legends. He had never heard of it in his original life, and assumed that it had been picked up with other inaccuracies that cumulated in the Arthurian legends. He figured that the historians must have realised that he never dies and so wrote a gory battle in which all is resolved. Camlann was King Arthur’s last battle. Supposedly.

But Merlin wasn’t even there, was he? So how can Camlann be connected to him?

Arthur rattles his brain but even the hum of Merlin’s soul is being stubbornly quiet. It feels as if Merlin has retreated, is hiding away ever since they pulled the truth out of the Green Knight that Merlin is to blame, at least in part, for Arthur’s reincarnations.

The Green Knight is patiently waiting for Arthur’s answer. He can hear the low whirr of Guinevere’s handhold camera. Seawater is beginning to creep under the automatic doors of the shopping mall. It’s all too much to think about.

“The books say Camlann is where I die,” Arthur says. “But I never went there.”

The Green Knight lifts one corner of his mouth. “Are you sure about that, Prince Arthur?”

Of course he’s sure. Arthur can remember every moment of every reincarnation. He would remember dying… wouldn’t he?

He feels something twist in his mind. Merlin. Arthur wishes he was here in person so he could throttle an answer out of him. _Your buzzing thing is only so helpful_ , Arthur thinks at him angrily.

“It happened then?” Arthur asks, “I died at Camlann?”

The Green Knight nods.

“But Merlin made me forget. Why?”

“Because,” Gwaine interrupts grumpily, “He probably thought he was doing the right thing, or something equally as heroic.” He yawns. “Are we done here yet? I never thought I’d prefer the King’s dungeon to ‘nything else but it’s probably a little less mad down there, know what I’m saying?”

The Green Knight silences him with a stare, “You are forbidden to leave, Sir Gwaine.”                            

“You what?”

“Prince Arthur’s quest cannot be completed without the help of his knights.”

“Says who?”

Arthur holds his hands up, in a gesture to beg them for silence. Thankfully, they do. “He’s right guys,” he says, turning to his friends, “I really could use your help. The only way to restore the balance is by doing what the Green Knight says, but the only way to make sure he doesn’t screw us over, is by asking him the right questions.”

Arthur waits until his friends nod in agreement before turning back to the Green Knight. “We need time to think.”

“Very well. You have fifteen minutes.”

Arthur splutters, “What?”

The Green Knight inclines his head slightly and indicates to the direction of the doors. Arthur gasps. What had only been inches of seawater previously has spread the span of three shops. The tide was coming in quickly.

“Okay,” Arthur agrees, “Okay.”

Arthur turns towards his friends and shuffles them towards a stone circle that probably used to house a floral arrangement. They perch around it. Guinevere wrinkles her nose at a crab but sits down nonetheless next to Lancelot.

“Out of interest,” Lancelot says, “If we don’t do the Green Knight’s bidding in the next fifteen minutes, what are the odds of us drowning?”

Arthur looks around the shopping mall and is distressed to see no water line. The building is only two floors and all of it is covered in algae. This is the only land for miles and all of it will be underwater before too long. They probably have a couple of hours if they climbed to the top floor. They could wait it out, tread water, until the tide recedes and they could get back across the ocean (if that’s even possible without the Green Knight’s magic). Then again, Arthur doubts people born in a dome know how to swim. “You don’t want me to answer that.”

“Oh good,” Gwaine says, “Drown or be re-written. Does anyone else feel too hungover for this shit?”

“That’ll teach you in the future then,” Guinevere says.

“Don’t you get it?” Gwaine snaps, “We don’t have a future.” He throws a seashell into a fallen display cabinet – now rockpool – with a clang.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur sighs, “You’re right. You and your world will cease to exist if I do this, but do you really think the world is meant to be like this? Where the only piece of land is a ruined shopping centre? You’re not meant to live underwater, guys. You’re really not. How long do you think that dome is going to last? You don’t have the resources. The world – Terran -  is beautiful. Lance, you’ve seen pictures right?”

Lancelot nods. “It looked…nice.”

“Yeah, nice,” Arthur repeats, though that word has never seemed so inadequate. “I promise you,” he says, looking at each one of his friends in turn, “we’re doing the right thing.”

“You’re not just doing it for _Merlin_ then,” Guinevere says. There seems to be a bite to her voice.

Arthur always found inheriting friends and family awkward upon reincarnation. They spend eighteen years or so getting used to a person, and then one day, a stranger wakes up in that person’s body and tries to act like them. He has brief inherited memories of him and Guinevere, but he still doesn’t know the full story.

“Yeah about him,” Gwaine says, “Who is he again?”

They don’t have time for this. “A powerful man who can set the world right. And a good friend.” _Sorry_ , Arthur thinks to Merlin, _You know it’s not just that_. He gets a shy but warm hum in response.

Gwaine raises his hand, “But he screwed this up in the first place, am I right?”

Arthur sets his jaw, but nods.

“So… remind me, why is he a good guy?”

Arthur grits his teeth. He could give them two hundred reasons why, but the tide is against them. “Merlin is the one who keeps magic in order, and as our cryptic fellow over here demonstrates,” he subtly points to where the Green Knight is picking at his axe, “magic is linked to nature. Merlin died, so magic died, so nature died, so…this,” he says, looking at the derelict mess around them.

Lancelot is the first to speak up. “I thought you said Merlin died every time, in all your lives, that you kept watching him die.”

Arthur nods.

“So what makes this time different?” Lancelot asks, “How come it’s screwed up now and not before?”

The truth hits Arthur right in the gut. Just as his knife did to Merlin. Blood. His blank eyes. _Merlin_. But this time, Arthur knows that Merlin is with him, can feel the warm presence in his mind and knows what it is, can feel it grow and focuses on it, as they starve off the incoming panic attack together.

He takes a deep breath and is able to answer calmly, “It was my fault. You know what I was saying about the constant reincarnation? It got too much. I tried to run away from it. I went mad. I…” Arthur shakes his head, “It happened. I did it. And then I woke up here. It must be because he remembered me, or because he died at my hand, maybe both.”

“You,” Guinevere accuses, “You got us into this mess?”

“To be fair,” Gwaine counters, “It was his man, Merlin, that got him into the cycle in the first place, am I right?”

“Yes,” Arthur confirms. “From the sounds of it. I don’t remember.” He doesn’t know what he resents Merlin for more: the curse of his reincarnation or the fact that he doesn’t remember why.

“You said there are books about this Camlann,” Lancelot interrupts before it can resume into the blame game. He always was the sensible one. “What do they say happened?”

“The stories vary – “ Arthur begins, and then remembers that he’s in an alternate universe where they don’t actually know what stories are, “Historians and poets and everyone kept elaborating what actually happened so there are different… accounts. Basically, there is a great battle, I die, apparently. There is no mention of Merlin. But the Green Knight implied – “

“That Merlin was there,” Guinevere interrupts, “And that he erased your memory of the entire battle?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” Lancelot asks.

This is what has been gnawing at Arthur since the Green Knight posed the question. This is the thought that makes Merlin recoil in his mind. But he thinks, finally, he might understand why. “What if…” Arthur rubs his head over his face, “Yeah, okay, what if I did actually die at Camlann. And Merlin tried to stop it. Tried some big scary spell that backfired. I don’t know what he intended because it obviously didn’t work but…” Arthur blinks back the moisture building in his eyes, and he doesn’t know if the grief comes from him or from Merlin but it’s starting to all feel the same, “I have watched him die, _hundreds_ of times, and each time… It doesn’t get any easier. If we were both there at Camlann, if he had to watch me die… I’d understand it, completely, I’d understand if he tried to do something about it. And I’d understand why he wouldn’t want either of us to remember a damn moment of it.”

When Arthur has gathered the courage to open his eyes and look around the stone circle at his friends, he is graced with three pairs of pitying eyes.

Arthur coughs, “So, if I agree to go back. To my original time. Back with Merlin in Camelot. It will happen again. I will die. He will try to save me. I’ll be trapped in the cycle, watching him die. I will break it and then I will wake up here. And we will have this exact same conversation. Maybe we’ve already been here ten times already, I don’t know.”

Gwaine breaks his gaze from where he was staring at the Green Knight, “I don’t think so, mate. The Green Knight needs magic and nature and whatever to live, right? He must want things to go back to normal as much as you do.”

Lancelot nods. “So why would he send you back to make the same mistake?”

“Unless he’s not going to…” Guinevere ponders.

They all look over to the Green Knight. He is pacing across the remains of the food court, apparently oblivious to their scrutiny.

“The Green Knight is many things,” Arthur says, “But he is not a liar. He said he would return me to Camelot in my intended lifetime. That much is true.”

Gwaine shrugs, “Then maybe there’s a condition that he will set. Something that will break the pattern.”

It dawns on Arthur, “He didn’t say Merlin would be there. That’s gotta be the catch right? To send me back but not Merlin? But how…? Arthurian legend would be too changed, I would die too quickly without him, mythology wouldn’t be fixed completely… unless, he’s planning on separating us or making us - ?” Arthur swallows. “You’re right, Gwaine. He’s going to set a condition. He’s going to find a way to make Merlin stop loving me – “

He hears Gwaine splutter behind him.

“- so that he won’t save me. That’s the Green Knight’s plan.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again about the delay, folks, but at least it's the last time you'll have to put up with it! Thank you so much for sticking with me.

Arthur walks towards the turned back of the Green Knight. His bare spine can be seen protruding from between the shreds of his ancient tunic. The encroaching ocean is beginning to lap at his feet.

"I've made my choice," Arthur shouts. His voice echoes eerily throughout the abandoned mall, but neither of them flinch at the sound.

The Green Knight heaves his axe from the ground and rests it on his shoulder as he turns to face Arthur and his companions. The Knight's face is stoic; he already knows that Arthur will have to agree.

"I just have one question," Arthur says.

The Green Knight nods for him to continue.

Arthur glances back at his companions; his friends that are so far from home, but who are brave enough not to show their trepidation. He has met versions of their souls throughout history and been thankful for them all. If Arthur counted the days he has been alive, he must be hundreds of years old by now. He remembers how Merlin's hair shone in the first rays of sunrise on a particular morning in May. He remembers that rainy day on the beach when Arthur pelted Merlin with chips and Merlin tried to catch them with his mouth, but laughing too much to succeed. He remembers opening the door to an old man who knew his name. Arthur's voice cracks as he asks,  "Will I remember?"  

"No," the Green Knight says firmly.

Then how can it work? How will Arthur know not to love Merlin if he doesn't remember the consequences? He can't fathom it.

"I will erect a blockade in your mind. Your caution will remain, but not the reason. Most likely, your fear of this cycle will surface as a fear of magic. If you are cautious of him, and Merlin never reveals his magic to you, then he can never become powerful enough to cast the spell at Camlann."

"You are certain that this will work?"

The Green Knight inclines his head.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," Arthur grumbles. He turns back to his companions,"Thank you, friends. You have helped me more than you know."

Gwaine huffs, "See ya on the other side."

"Yeah," Arthur says, "Yeah, I guess I will." He takes a deep breath to regain his nerves before stepping forward, into the exact centre of the mall. A wave laps at the tip of his boots. He looks up into the dark eerie eyes of the Green Knight, now standing no more than a stride away. "I'm ready."

The Green Knight holds his axe in both hands out towards Arthur and Arthur grasps the rod, placing his hands alongside the skeletal ones of the Knight.

"What is it that you seek, Once and Future King?"

Arthur feels Merlin's presence stir his mind. The words come from both of them, even if Arthur is the only one to speak, "I seek the greatest of treasures. That which will restore the balance of nature, and myth, and magic. I seek the Holy Grail."

A bright light expands from the axe until Arthur's vision is engulfed in the light. He squints against it, trying to watch as the rotting commercial building he stands in fades into whiteness. The sounds of the sea are drowned out by the buzzing in his head that gets stronger and stronger until it's deafening. It becomes too bright and loud, and Arthur moves his arms to cover his eyes from the assault. The brightness seems to drop away immediately.

When Arthur lowers his arms, he is still surrounded my white, but muted; the white of generic hospital walls rather than the blinding white of the sun. And then, he sees a figure forming in the distance, getting closer.

The Green Knight said Arthur had to face his true self, but Arthur doesn't need to see the figure to know who it is that approaches. Two sides of the same coin, someone once said.

Arthur's heart flutters at the sight as Merlin's face comes into focus. He must look dumbstruck because Merlin has that cheeky grin on his face, the one that means Arthur is being an idiot. He's never been happier to see it.

"Merlin," Arthur breathes, and then he is running towards him. He doesn't give Merlin the chance to ruin the moment as he's so fond of doing, Arthur just reaches for the back of his head and pulls him into a kiss. He doesn't move for a while, just holds him there, marvelling that he can be so close once more - he missed his warmth, and his scent, and his presence - but then Merlin starts kissing him back and there's so much feeling in it, Arthur can only cling on.

"We won't have long," Merlin whispers against his lips.

Arthur kisses it away, he doesn't want to think about it. Merlin pulls away though and deflects Arthur's attempts to follow with his lips.

"Arthur," he laughs. It sounds like relief. Maybe Merlin didn't think they'd have this chance either. "I need to tell you something," he says, stroking the nape of Arthur's neck as if to reassure him he's not going anywhere, but he is Arthur realises, any minute now they could be torn apart. Again.

Arthur rests his head on Merlin's shoulder and it takes him a minute to recognise the words pouring out of his mouth. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry I killed you, I'm sorry, Russia, I'm sorry..." his words are so quick that the syllables start blurring, but Merlin understands; his hand comes to rub comforting circles on Arthur's back. 

"I forgive you," Merlin says. Arthur shudders against him; the weight taken from him so quickly that he feels suddenly exhausted. Merlin holds him up though, close enough that Arthur can hear the catch in his breath when he says, "I'm sorry too. I'm sorry for casting that spell. Giving you the curse of reincarnation, I didn't mean to -"

"Blessing," Arthur interrupts, gathering his strength to raise his head from Merlin's shoulder.

"What?" Merlin says, pulling only far enough away to look Arthur in the eye.

"It was a blessing to meet you in so many lifetimes, only a curse each time you were taken again."

Merlin smiles sadly. "Then I'm sorry for that."

Arthur traces Merlin's cheekbone with his thumb. He has done this before on an unmoving body; bloody, and sprawled out on the pavement. As painful as that memory is, Arthur still knows his answer, "I forgive you," he says.

"We're slipping away," Merlin gasps, "The veil is losing strength. I can feel it."

"No, no," Arthur begins to protest, but he is silenced by Merlin's urgent lips pressing against his. Just once. Just briefly.

"Listen to me," Merlin says sincerely as he cradles Arthur’s face in his hands. "I know what we have to do. I know the deal you made with the Green Knight. I know you cannot love me, but Arthur, if you can get it through that thick skull of yours, I need you to remember this; I will always, always love you. Know that. Know that to me, even if I am no more than your lowly servant, love you."

There are tears falling from Arthur's eyes, "I think my heart will too. Even if I can't love you, won't, I - I don't think my heart knows any other way."

Merlin kisses him before he can fall apart, but already the air around them is thinning, stretching apart. He feels everything becoming distant again, like being pulled out of a dream, and as much as Arthur tries to hold on - to whom? why? - he feels himself letting go.

Arthur Pendragon wakes to another morning in Camelot. The everyday noises and smells of the city waft between the crack in the thick curtains and over to the four-poster bed where he lies. The dregs from a dream stir in his mind, something about water and a boy, but as he lies awake staring at the familiar canopy of his bed, it starts to fade into reality. There is much to do today, swordplay and meetings and trials. Another sorcery trial, the fifth in so many days. They need to rid this kingdom of magic before it creates more chaos. He knows this. But an odd feeling arises from the complex swirl of remnant emotions from his deep sleep. He buries the feeling away. Dreams have no place in the world of the living.

A servant knocks at his door and the new day is ushered in.

 

 


	16. Epilogue

Arthur is engaging in good-humoured “moving target practice” with his knights and an unfortunate servant when the ghost from his dream appears. A young man, near enough his own age, stands nearby, dressed in rags and a brown jacket that hangs off his skinny frame. At first Arthur thinks the boy must be a beggar or a servant, someone he has seen before around the city, with a familiar face, but no name ever mentioned, but when the boy speaks, it’s as if he has no idea who Arthur is. Anyone who inhabits the city for longer than a day, knows who Arthur is. It takes him by surprise, this boy’s casual yet challenging smile, there’s an openness to the stranger that invites friendliness but with a reserve that implies he’s holding something back. Everything he does is a contradiction.

“Hey, that’s enough,” he says, referring to Arthur’s choice of practice strategy, but then, “You’ve had your fun, my friend.”

_Friend?_

Arthur doesn’t know what to make of it. This familiar stranger that is being so assumptous. His knights are watching, in fact, Arthur feels eyes on him from the whole of Camelot, so as he strides towards the boy he makes sure to belie none of his uneasiness. He is cocky, and he is rude, but the stranger only roles with the punches. But even as they bicker and the boy continues to insult him, Arthur can’t help the small smile that seems to pull at his lips, the laughter that builds up and escapes, not in a cruel mocking way as he intended, but in actual amusement.

And when Arthur says the stranger’s name - _Merlin_ \- it feels so familiar on his tongue that he knows it will not be the last that they see of each other.

He doesn’t have to wait long. They’re gearing up towards a fight, buoyed by their own egos, and the whole marketplace is watching. It’s the most fun he’s had in a long time, and Merlin despite his lack of athleticism, just won’t back down from the fight. No one talks to him like this. It makes him anxious, as much as it makes him curious. Merlin may look innocent, but Arthur learnt not to trust that a long time ago. _Magic_ , his mind whispers fearfully, _Maybe he’s a sorcerer_. He swings his mace with a little more intention. “I warn you, I’ve been trained to kill since birth.”

And then, Merlin does it again. Throws him completely off his game. “Wow,” he says, “And how long have you been training to be a prat?”

Arthur scoffs, smiles, laughs… This boy is ridiculous, and, on second thoughts, way too stupid to be a sorcerer. “You can’t address me like that.”

“I’m sorry. How long have you been training to be a prat, _my lord_?”

Arthur needs to get that self-satisfied smirk off Merlin’s face. For a split-second, Arthur feels like there’s another option than the swing of a mace, but it fades before it has a chance to surface fully. Besides, fighting is fun.

He doesn’t know how he falls prey to a series of juvenile blunders. He doesn’t understand anything to do Merlin, really, including why he lets him go without charges, but he does.

Arthur is about to leave the marketplace to find his self-respect in an audience that didn’t just witness him falling over a bucket, but he stops himself last second. He turns to look at Merlin. The boy from the dream, the one full of contradictions, the one he feels like he knows, but there’s something coming them that’s more than just Arthur’s ego and Merlin’s stupidity, no, instead it’s like he can feel an invisible wall between them. Something makes him not trust Merlin’s innocence; it’s a strange and frightful instinct he only ever gets around sorcerers and on the battlefield, and it makes no sense that this idiotic, clumsy, man in rags, has evoked it, but he trusts his instincts all the same.

“There’s something about you, Merlin,” he says. He flicks his eyes up to Merlin’s, as if he’ll find the answer there, but they’re blank. “I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

Arthur feels Merlin’s eyes on him as he leaves the marketplace, and as the years go by, he can never quite shake it.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU. I have such a bad record with WIPs that I never thought this day would come but it's been thanks to your support that I have. I know it got weird. I had no intention of it going underwater and back, but thank you if you stuck through that. Thank you so much for reading. I hope you like the ending? 
> 
> And in case you want to follow me on tumblr it's http://vands88.tumblr.com/ 
> 
> Thank you once again!


End file.
